A Mere Sixteen
by Liebling
Summary: A cute, short, sweet -coming of age- ficlet. In which we realize that cotton, blue flowered dresses never go out of style. Even when we are sixteen. “Mummy, I’ll always be your baby.”


~*~  
It was her sweet sixteenth birthday party. October 19th. Everyone was bustling about the place in such a way that you would have thought it was made for a Queen. Mrs. Weasley, no doubt had been crying her eyes out "My baby," she cried. In which the petite girl replied:  
  
"Mummy, I'll always be your baby."  
  
Mrs. Weasley smiled fondly down at her daughter, "Yes, yes, very true dear."  
  
Sweet sixteen.  
  
She called it that too, although she wasn't particularly fond of the name. She always said indignantly "I've always been sweet. No change."  
  
Grinning towards her parents she said, "Mummy-may I have pink balloons on my birthday?" Her Mother grinned fondly, "Yes, Darling. You get to be the Princess."  
  
And her Father would smile down at his young daughter, "Of course sweetie. Pink balloons it is."  
  
She remembered the party. The big cake, the pink frosting. The way that she dug a jade fingernail into the cake to scoop out a bit of frosting and then delightedly licked her finger. The way that everyone looked at HER. The way that for once, she got exactly what she wanted. Holding a carnation pink balloon she happily jumped around. Waltzing with Ronald. Giggling with Hermione. Batting her eyelashes at Harry. It was just all so perfect, in a way that [even she knew] nothing would ever be that perfect again. Ever. Ever. Again.  
  
The funny thing was, it wasn't a façade. It was all just darn natural. Thinking about how quickly the first sixteen years of her life had gone, she reminisced. About the past. The future. The present.  
  
She remembered the time when for once she realized how important she really was. She was just seven, a mere seven, thinking she could conquer the world with just one finger. Thinking she was holier than thou. Thinking that she could make a difference. It was a windy night and the rain pelted her glass window as she was 'trying' to sleep. She never had liked the rain. Wearing her blue flowered cotton nightgown she tried terribly to go to sleep, turning over and rolling around but to no avail. She pulled the covers up over her head. Still no sleep.  
  
Making her way over towards her parents' room she came across a blurry figure with carrot cake colored hair.  
  
"Gin?" he asked his voice dry.  
  
"George," she muttered softly.  
  
"You know sweetheart you're the only one who can tell the difference between Fred and I."  
  
"I know," she giggled nervously.  
  
"What's up, doll?" he inquired.  
  
"Its just-"  
  
"-the rain. Again. You can't sleep. It's terrible, scary. And you hate it. And I agree," he finished for her.  
  
Her face instantly lighted up. "Merlin!" she cried her eyes looking up to him in astonishment. "How did you know?"  
  
"I know these things," he replied vaguely.  
  
"What things?" she asked.  
  
"Everything," he chuckled.  
  
"Everything?" she grinned.  
  
"Everything and a day," he said.  
  
"Can I-" she said, but before she could finish he cut her off.  
  
"Kiddo, wanna come sleep in my bed tonight?"  
  
She nodded. Taking his hand.  
  
It was the first time that she realized a lesson that would remain her sweet memory forever. The lesson of eternal love. The idea that you could be in China, your relatives in Acapulco and if you were in trouble-they'd be there. In a heartbeat. She felt so safe. So warm. Honest caring. No feigned kindness.  
  
Then she remembered times that she wished she could just forget entirely. The diary. Tom Riddle. It was her first real taste at manipulation, and the power one soul could have over another. Her naïve-ness had to deal her in at one point or another. She was only eleven, so young. He had besieged her tiny heart and had occupied her soul. She was sent to do his evil biding. It was the sort of memory that you wish could just float away with the tides. Just eleven. A mere eleven.  
  
"Tom," she begged softly, "don't do this to me."  
  
He cackled in an odd sort of way, unbeknownst to anyone except for Her, "Oh, I'm not doing anything Ginny-doll, this is all your creation. All this evil. All this good. This so-called reality. It's all in your mind," he paused slightly to toss his wand from one hand to another, "it's all your creation. You're going mad, Ginny-doll, and you're so far down even I can't save you."  
  
One of the keenest things that came to her mind was the time when she sat at the lake. Alone. She was in her third year then. Just thirteen. A mere thirteen. And she was just...  
  
Being.  
  
Just being. It would be a lie to say that she had "no" cares or no worries, but it would also be a lie to say that she was well aware of them. She sat by the lake, tucking her skirt over her knees and watched the comfortable swish of water. It didn't matter that she had failed her Potion's test. It didn't matter that Harry Potter liked her no more than a sister. It didn't matter that she still slept with her stuffed rabbit, Pomme. And it certainly didn't matter that she was just thirteen.  
  
Her whole life ahead of her. The future in her tiny hands. The weight of the world bore strong against her back. And yet there she was, so unknowing about her future. Unknowing about what was to come, and what fate would deal to her.  
  
Then, in equal succession the memory of looking in the vanity mirror during her fourth year. Looking at her rounded face as she took out the paddle brush and combed through her coppery coloured hair, she realized, for once, and forever how beautiful she really was. It took her forever. A whole fifteen years to realize it. But when she realized it, she was elated. '- I'm beautiful-' she said to herself grinning slightly '-and not because anyone else said so, but because its true, and because I chose to believe it and for no other reason.-'  
  
From that day on, her confidence skyrocketed. Yes, she was still shy, yes she was still a bit meek, yes she was still quiet. However, inside the 'calm' appearance was a girl who deep down inside knew how beautiful she truly was. And for once, she didn't have to be reassured. She was just fourteen, a mere fourteen.  
  
Waking up from her brief "reminiscing session" she remembered the Present. What really mattered.  
  
And there she was, in that blue flowered cotton dress. On her sixteenth birthday. A modest knee-length. Sprinked marble cake smeared over her mouth, a reminder of just how many pieces she had had. A goofy grin sparkling across her face. The eyes that just looked at you imploringly. And she was just as young as she had EVER been.  
  
Just as young and girlish as she was at three. Just as scared of rain as she was at seven. Still intrigued by the power of manipulation and the act of stealing a soul as she was at eleven. Amazed by the art of "being" no different then when she was thirteen. Still thinking herself beautiful, just as when she was fourteen.  
  
The same little girl.  
  
But now she was sixteen-  
  
A mere sixteen.  
  
~*~  
  
Fin. 


End file.
